


maybe i loved you (maybe i wanted to)

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Bottom Wilbur Soot, DSMP, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Lovers, Goodbye Sex, Hate Sex, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Insane Wilbur Soot, Kissing, M/M, Porn With Plot, Post-Exile, Requited Love, Rough Sex, Sad Ending, Sex, Top Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Wilbur Soot, but pre-festival, make of that what you will, this is actually really sad?? who knows why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29730492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Why are you here?” Wilbur asks.But the truth is, he already knows the answer. He’s taking off his coat and draping it on the back of a chair before Dream says anything at all. Dream pulls his mask off, chin-length hair falling out of his hood, and they walk towards each other.And they collide — the way that planets do, or two objects of unstoppable force. It's inevitable, really.Wilbur realizes that it's not just hate sex when Dream comes to say goodbye before the festival.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 10
Kudos: 216
Collections: Anonymous





	maybe i loved you (maybe i wanted to)

**Author's Note:**

> will be removed if ccs express discomfort (fic is based on personas in the dsmp universe) — title from ur name on a grain of rice, runnner — posted anon because i just _know_ that my subscribers are children and i don't want them to get an email for this
> 
> i,,, honestly have no idea what this is. porn? for a bit? then it's just sad. hope you like it though! it's actually the first time I've written something like this so it could suck but i hope it doesn't

_ The festival is tomorrow.  _

Wilbur paces the floor of the button room in frantic circles, his feet kicking up the fine dust that shifts down from the ceiling and into his hair and everything that he owns. His head buzzes with _what-ifs_ and doubts about the lacework of TNT under his nation. 

It’s still  _ his _ , despite everything. And he doesn’t want to lose it but he doesn’t want it to be someone else’s — he won’t get it back either way, so it’s better if no one gets to keep it.  _ Never meant to be,  _ Eret had said. He’ll say that too, before he presses the button. 

He’s already planned his speech. 

He only realizes that he’s speaking out loud when a loud, confident knock on the wall interrupts his soliloquy. 

Preparing for a fight or maybe Tommy, back from trying to visit Tubbo, he whirls around sharply. These days, everything sets him on edge.

It’s Dream, a heavy green cloak swirling around his ankles as he stands in the doorway.

“Why are you here?” Wilbur asks. 

But the truth is, he already knows the answer. He’s taking off his coat and draping it on the back of a chair before Dream says anything at all. Dream pulls his mask off, chin-length hair falling out of his hood, and they walk towards each other. 

And they collide — the way that planets do, or two objects of unstoppable force. 

After this long, they know the dance — when Dream comes during the day, it’s for diplomacy, for discussions and trading and warnings. But when Dream comes at night, well, they have an agreement. 

An agreement far removed from the server’s politics. 

“Impatient,” Wilbur mutters as Dream kisses a line down his neck. “You know that we’re not heathens—there are beds down here.”

“What?” Dream asks. “You think that I want to fuck you?”

“I  _ know  _ that you do.”

“Careful making assumptions,” the man says. “Maybe I’m just here to talk.”

“Then keep talking,” Wilbur says, smirking as he runs a hand down Dreams leg and hears the man take in a sharp breath. 

“Lead the way,” Dream mutters. He knows when to admit defeat. 

They walk down the hall, Dream stopping every couple seconds to kiss Wilbur, once lifting him up against one of the cold, stone walls to do it. 

“I shouldn’t be able to do that, you know,” Dream says when he sets Wilbur down, face red and pupils dilated, “But you’re so light.”

Wilbur makes some joke about his plan for getting calories with a raised eyebrow and pretends to be impressed by Dream’s strength.

_ At least Tommy is a sound sleeper,  _ he thinks as he accidentally lets a muffled whine through his teeth when Dream brushes his fingers along Wilbur’s stomach, trailing somewhere lower. Not that he’s actually sure Tommy is here — probably for the best if he’s not. 

Then they’re in Wilbur’s bedroom, tumbling onto the mattress together as searching fingers find the edges of shirts and pants, throwing them to the side of the bed. 

The heat in his stomach is more than enough to make up for the cold air of the underground against his skin.

“Roll over for me, darling,” Dream says, the pet name enough to make Wilbur obey instantly even though he knows Dream only uses them as a joke. Or maybe Dream just knows what they do to Wilbur and uses them strategically.

Wilbur doesn’t care.

All he can feel are Dream’s hands on his back, Dream’s weight on top of him. He lets out a small moan — call it a sneak peek, he’s not embarrassed.

“You’re beautiful,” Dream says a second before his fingers are inside Wilbur. 

“I know,” Wilbur answers, on the brink of incoherency, the tightness unbearable, “But tell me again in case I forget.”

“Beautiful,” Dream whispers, kissing Wilbur’s neck and down his back, leaving little marks that Wilbur hopes will last for longer than the night. “Even if you are a little crazy.”

Wilbur half laughs-half groans. It’s true, after all — they all call him insane and if they could see him now, they would have even more proof.

“You ready?” Dream asks.

“Of course,” Wilbur answers. And because it’s the last time, because he can’t resist, because he wants so desperately to feel something: “Make it hurt.”

Dream hesitates long enough to take a breath. “If that’s what you want,” he says. 

“Get on with it,” Wilbur answers, voice too fond for his liking.

Then Dream is inside him and his body is engulfed in white-hot need, his hips jerking upwards in a rhythm it takes him a second to gain control of. And the pressure inside of him hurts, yes, but it feels so good that he wishes it would never stop.

“Please,” he whimpers. “I need—”

“—Tell me you need me,” Dream says mid-thrust, laughter in his voice. “That one’s new.”

Wilbur comes back to himself for a second. “Fuck off,” he pants. “If anything, you need me.”

“Oh?” Dream asks. “I could leave—I don’t need you.”

“Sure you could leave—but who else could do  _ this _ ?” 

Wilbur twists his hips upwards and tightens around Dream and a smile spreads across his face when the man cries out in response, an, “Oh god, Wilbur—please.”

“You like that?” Wilbur asks. 

“Yes,” Dream forces out. So Wilbur does it again and again, the pressure building in his stomach and consuming him until the movement and the moans coming from him are all he knows how to do. 

“Fuck,” he cries out. “Harder, Dream.”

The other man doesn’t say anything, just pushes into Wilbur with an intensity that he knows will make him hurt later, though the burning he feels now is anything but bad.

Distantly, he’s amused at the fact that he’ll be buried with bruises running down his back and that he’ll die limping.

“Please—” he yells, head filled with the single focus that he’s  _ so close. _

Then he’s coming, back arched and hit by the feeling so hard that he blacks out for a second, stars spreading across his vision. 

He can tell that Dream is too by the way that the man’s rhythm stutters for a second before he goes rigid, crying out some incomprehensible sentence, punctuated by what might be Wilbur’s name. 

For a second, they just lay there, panting. Together.

Then Dream rolls off of Wilbur and reaches for a washcloth on the bedside table — Wilbur leaves stacks them there because this happens more often than they’d like to admit. Wilbur doesn’t move as Dream cleans them off, eyes nearly drifting shut with the glow of what was arguably the best orgasm he’s ever had. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs into the pillow when Dream’s thrown the cloth to the floor and curled around him, taking up his faithful position as the big spoon. 

“That was…” Dream starts before trailing off. Maybe they’re both realizing that there are some things no one can describe. 

_ That was one hell of a goodbye,  _ Wilbur thinks. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

Dream’s so quiet that for a minute, Wilbur thinks that the man might have fallen asleep like he’s about to do, encircled by strong arms. 

“Don’t thank me,” Dream says quietly into Wilbur’s neck, his hot breath fluttering Wilbur’s hair. 

“Okay,” Wilbur says. 

“Okay,” Dream replies.

Then they really do fall asleep for who-knows-how-long since there are no windows. It’s the first night he’s spent in his bed for days, the first time that he’s felt safe to sleep — strange that it’s with Dream, who was once such an enemy. 

When he wakes up, they’ve twisted in sleep to face each other, and Dream’s eyes are open, watching him. 

“Why are you here?” Wilbur whispers. Because before they were tangled in a web of desire, Dream started all of it and kept coming back. And before Dream held Wilbur tightly, he handed him stacks of TNT to ensure his own destruction. 

“You know, everyone thinks that you’re going crazy down in this hole,” Dream says instead of giving him an answer. 

“Of course I am,” Wilbur mutters. “Why else would I be doing  _ this?” _

“Doing what?” Dream asks. “Planning to destroy your nation or fucking the man that wants you to do it?”

“Both,” Wilbur sighs. 

Dream laughs. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Wilbur says. 

“You wouldn’t like the answer.”

“Humor me.”

“There’s only one thing better than watching something burn,” Dream says. “And that’s knowing that you’re the one able to put it out.” At this moment, Wilbur decides to play along. He decides not to tell the man that even if he was once a flame, there’s not enough oxygen down here. His fire died out long ago.

“Seems like I’m not the only crazy one.”

“No,” Dream says, voice almost brittle. “You’re not.”

“I don’t think that’s the entire truth, though,” Wilbur says. He knows that there was a time where all Dream wanted was to destroy — to extinguish — him, but that time has passed. It’s different now, their relationship. Softer, the type where Dream hesitates when Wilbur wants to be hurt, tells him that he should be eating more. 

“It’s the truth that I’m willing to give,” Dream says.

“God, we’re fucked up,” Wilbur whispers, eyes still closed. “Will you miss me?”

Dream thinks — really thinks — for a minute, before answering, “Yes.”

“Not just miss my body,” Wilbur insists, “but miss  _ me.” _

“I said yes, didn’t I?” Dream asks. 

“Oh,” Wilbur replies — it’s not what he was expecting. “Why?”

“You’ve already gotten too many answers,” Dream replies.

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to admit that you’re in too deep.”

There’s silence for a minute. 

“Will you miss me?” Dream whispers, breaking it and resting his head against Wilbur’s back. 

“No,” Wilbur replies instinctively. 

Dream puts his fingers around Wilbur’s neck and tilts his chin up. 

“You’re lying,” he whispers into Wilbur’s mouth before he kisses him — hard, hungry, maybe a little sorrowful. The kind of kiss that steals your breath but makes suffocation almost appealing. 

Dream leans back, lets him gasp for air. “You’ll miss me. I know you will”

Wilbur only nods in response, breathless. He should have stopped lying to Dream months ago because it never works. Something must give him away, some tilt of his eyebrow or shift of his eyes that he doesn’t have control over. 

Of course, he’ll miss him. 

He’ll miss Dream’s strong hands, strong arms, strong shoulders, capable body — beautiful body. His wavy, messy hair. His crooked smile. 

His honesty. His wit — Wilbur’s never seen someone who can spar so completely, both physically and mentally, superior with a pen  _ or  _ a sword because no matter what he holds in his hands, he’ll win. 

Yes, Wilbur will miss Dream. 

“What kind of flowers do you like?” Dream asks suddenly. 

“Why?”

“Don’t you realize that no one else will visit your grave?”

It’s sick, the reassurance that Wilbur gets from the statement  _ no one else.  _ It means that even if Wilbur follows through with his plan tomorrow, Dream will bring flowers to his headstone. Dream will brush away the moss. 

“Hyacinths,” Wilbur answers. “Purple ones.”

“Fitting,” Dream mutters.

“To match your eyes,” Wilbur says. He doesn’t want to face the fact that in some distant past, someone had taught a young-Dream flower language. That at some point, Dream had even  _ cared  _ about memorizing the meaning of purple hyacinths — regret, a pleading for forgiveness — that he’d cared about flowers at all.

“Asshole,” Dream says. “You know I hate purple.”

They don’t talk about the fact that Dream knows exactly what the flowers mean. 

“I have to go,” Dream says. 

Wilbur could say _Stay,_ and Dream might even listen _._ He doesn’t, though, watching in silence as Dream stands up and pulls on first his pants and then his cloak and then his shoes. Next is Wilbur’s least favorite part: Dream covers his face with the awful, porcelain mask. 

Wilbur drags himself out of the bed and grabs his own pants, trying not to wince as he steps into them. He notices that there’s a half-empty box of cigarettes in the pocket, a couple of matches. Small happinesses

He walks with Dream to the room’s doorway, and he wants to ask  _ Can’t you see that I’m falling? Could you catch me, if you tried—if you even wanted to? Can you stay? Do you love me? _

A thousand sentences start and die before they ever make it past his lips. 

“Cigarette?” he asks instead, voice thick with smoke and sorrow. 

“No,” Dream says, shaking his head slowly as he watches the flame of the match Wilbur used to light his own slowly flicker out and die.  _ There’s probably a metaphor in there _ , Wilbur thinks. They seem to be everywhere these days — in the way that Dream’s innocent, boyish hair is hidden by his hood and expressions by his mask, in the way that the hall is lined by burnt-out candles that nobody bothers to light anymore.

“Those’ll kill you,” Dream says — it’s a joke; they both know that Wilbur doesn’t get the privilege of death by lung cancer or whatever cigarettes do to the chest or the throat or the teeth. 

“Not fast enough,” Wilbur answers, smiling ruefully. “Never fast enough.”

“Goodbye, Wilbur,” Dream says. Wilbur wishes that he could see Dream’s face, one last time.

“Goodbye, Dream,” Wilbur says. He won’t cry. But if he let them, the tears would come

It’s final. There’s nothing else to say, nothing that can change the future or the past, the choices they made that long-ago set into motion what will happen tomorrow. It’s irreversible. 

Dream turns. Wilbur almost calls out, almost — but he stops himself. He doesn’t deserve a happy ending. Even if he did, Dream isn’t some knight that can save him. He’s starting to think that Dream won’t even be able to save himself. 

Wilbur stands in the dark hall, lungs filled with smoke and head filled with the buzz of nicotine, until Dream’s footsteps are inaudible. Until he’s once again, completely and utterly alone. 

_ Suppose I’ll just have to wait for him in Hell,  _ Wilbur thinks, chuckling mirthlessly. Because Dream will take his time, try to delay the inevitable, but in the end, that’s where they’ll both end up. 

_ The festival is today.  _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> au endings:
> 
> 1: dream finds wilbur after he's dead, buries him bc no one else will. there are always hyacinths on his grave
> 
> 2: dream finds wilbur before phil, wilbur says, "just kill me" dream stabs him. wilbur says, "thank you." before he dies and dream says "don't thank me" but wilbur isn't alive to say "okay" cue hyacinths except this time it's dream's regrets that they represent
> 
> 3: dream finds wilbur before he presses the button, asks if he meant it when he said hyacinths were his favorite (ie: does he actually have regret/want forgiveness) wilbur says yes. dream says, "then let's get the fuck out of here" and they never come back.
> 
> well...hope you liked it. i might un-anon this at some point. let me know what you thought if you have the time! <3


End file.
